"From the Abyss and the wilds you crawled, and your resilience is your blessing." -Beebop, cartographer
-----
OoC: Hi, hello! @kitty-da-insane here with another Pharloomblr blog, y'all did this to me.
Mod Kitty/Cat uses she/Her
This is Casseopea, pronouns They/She/He/Any/It. They are my vessel oc, somewhere around same age range as Ghost/Shadelord and were mentored by a mud dauber named Beebop.
He likes maps and with tinkering with things, so it has a tool pouch on hand like Hornet. Their weapon is a forged thumbtack warpick, brutal and efficient. They're about Hornet's height as well.
Casseopea does not talk as they are a vessel. Not supposed to have a voice and all. They will use Weaver sign language or write it out in their pocketbook. And if it chooses to talk,
ꙅiʜƚ ɘʞi| ɿɒɘqqɒ ||'ƚI
So, have fun with Cass here!
----
Tags!
[layout of the land] General In Character tag here
[into the journal with you] Answering asks
[pestering me] named blog interactions
[kindred? no] For interactions with other vessels of family
[tools of the trade] For other cartographers and tinkers when interacting with Cass
[marks in the margins] art and sketches or sprite edits when I get around to making sprites
[minor bout of possession] Mod Kitty and general OoC posts
Basic Rules!
Silksong/Hollow Knight spoilers! (Kinda obvious, but y'know)
NO NSFW
Shipping is.... Well, Casseopea may be aromantic, so, good chance that most relationships will be queer platonic. Although they view themselves as an adult (again, maybe Hornet or Broken Vessel size), Higher Being children are weird, as we all know
Roleplay blogs are very welcome to interact! Cass here is very blunt and too the point, and may accidentally come off as rude. I do not condone Casseopea's interactions when it gets spicy (spicy like angry, kinda like a shelter kitten, get your minds out of the gutter)
Some asks or interactions may get art, this is not a guarantee as I work and have life outside my blogs, so just be aware. You'll know if I'm drawing your character, because Mod Cat here gets very excited to share wip things
*Much like the rest of the City of Tears, the Pleasure House too had seen far, far better days, waterlogged pages of sheet music and wilted flowers littering the stage and forlorn abandoned rooms. None came to visit anymore, none that paused to listen.*
*Yet from above there came a rap tapping, a scrape of weapon floor, the splash of movement of something in the above hot spring waters. There had been holes and paths made when the kingdom fell, clear enough by the empty eyed shells and crumpled husks still sat in their seats.*
*And yet there, from above, came a curious sight indeed. A shorter bug, stocky with a white mask and twisting horns slipped down on heavy set steps. There was a pick of sorts on their back, fashioned from a brass thumbtack. And their cloak, a yellow of dandelion fluff, odd and new but a splash of colour softened from the mournful blue light of the Blue Lake, far above the city caverns.*
*The stranger did not notice the songstress, at least, they gave no acknowledgement to. Their steps were careful, made on void black paws, their three sharp eyes of darkness assessing, appraising the the dim space. They lingered at walls, glanced at soaked sheets before finally stopping at a painted relief of a certain butterfly of blonde fur and fuschia wings. The stranger did not speak, silent they were, yet there did come a thrumming hum felt more than heard of bass, still far away from the stage itself.*
@mapmaker-vess0l
Marissa couldn’t help but watch the stranger ever since she first noticed them descend the steps and arrive in the room. They’re an interesting-looking sort, but not completely unusual. She had seen many types of bugs attend her performances ages ago.
Her gaze followed them all the way to where they currently stood, in front of the painted depiction of her on the wall. She did wonder, when they passed her stage, if they had just not noticed her or deliberately failed to acknowledge her.
Her song faltered and came to a pause as she called out, the words quiet yet echoing off the walls,
*For all she knew, perhaps the stranger had not heard her, merely looking at the painted portrait intently. A voided paw ran along the edges, tapping the surface, dusting off colours, and with it the low, hum huff vibrated the air around them. Strange behavior, and yet those dark eyes were looking it over, not curiosity, but appraisal, tracking numbers, calculating value based on materials and age.*
*After a moment more, they turned, looking over the stage. And yet, three eyes seemed to look through her as if she wasn't there at all, drawing closer toward a pile of sold music sheets and programs. There was no acknowledgement at all, just a stranger continuing to pick over things from a dead kingdom.*
Marissa blinked, realizing that they simply could not see her. They’re certainly not the first. Many who have wandered in here before have also been unable to see or communicate with her despite her attempts to get their attention. She couldn’t understand why that is; why some could see her and others could not.
There was hardly any point in trying again.
She noticed their apparent interest in the yellowed sheets of paper left on the side of the stage. She hasn’t noticed them there before. In fact, she’s hardly ever moved from where she normally stood.
As she glided over to the stack of papers, a breeze flowed through the room, noticeably making the sheets flutter and rustle.
*The breeze had the stranger freeze, pale shell mask immediately snapping up on locking on the disturbed pages. That was strange. Yes. Strange.*
*The stranger straightened, void paws abandoning the waterlogged parchment, one twitching toward the pick at their back. After a moment more, they dragged a set of goggles down over their three dark and sharp eyes, smelted green glass covering them thoroughly.*
*There had been a breeze, as noticed by the stranger. And with an adjustment of the red scarf at their throat, the stranger moved. They investigated the wall by the stage, before crashing back to the above stairs. From their satchel, they took out tools before striking a match, holding it up and watching for the flame to gutter. And sure enough, nothing, at least from where they stood just below the stage now. They watched, they wait, a voided paw twitching as if to count silently.*
*And oh, this stranger of root like horns was silent, unnervingly so. Yet the breeze, that couldn't have come from this room, the structure was wrong to cause unintended airflow, there weren't any cracks or breaks.*
*Dissatisfied, the stranger repeated this test again, and twice more, receiving the same results. That discordant hum felt more than heard rumbled through their chitin once more, putting out the match with a voided paw and pushing their goggles up. Curious, strange, and entirely unexplainable.*
*But this stranger was different from those that came blinded by golden light. Different from the weary ones that fled when strangeness occured. No. This one set their satchel down on the edge of the stage, drawing forth tools, notepads, scraps and trinkets scattered about cartography pins. They're snatched up a quill, and with it, immediately scratching down calculations of the room and theater with eerie focus.*
Marissa watched them the entire time, bemused by their actions. She wasn’t sure what it was they were doing, and couldn’t by any means figure it out. She was completely oblivious to the breeze that had wafted through the room when she had moved.
As the stranger began to write, she lightly shrugged her shoulders and refocused on the stack of papers on the edge of stage, spectral claws picking through each and every one. Faded music sheets she vaguely recognized, programs of events held in the Pleasure House in years past, most bearing her name.
As she rifled through the papers, some of them fluttered over towards the general direction of the stranger, carried by an unknown source of wind, slightly stronger than the previous breeze.
*Once more, the stranger paused, although perhaps it went unnoticed. Paper fluttered by without a discernable breeze, the match experiment couldn't find gaps in the walls to let forth a string enough wind, the room layout was wrong to cause a draft and there was too much moisture-*
*Eventually, they turned, golden yellow cloak fluffed up like a startled mosskin as they noticed the fluttering pages from the stage, yet with no other bug. They seemed to be being sorted, and with a voided paw, they pointed in surprise.*
¡-ɐɥɐ∀
*It was a garbled sound, raspy, staticked and distorted, yet more than a hum, and certainly one made of surprise as it tore from their normally silent throat. The pages were moving on their own, and the stranger - at least to themself - was not one to believe in the supernatural.*
*A familiar stocky, golden figure of pale mask and twisting horns creeps through the underbrush below, careful void paws leading down, down, down to towering mushrooms and fungal growths. For those that could smell, the caverns were earthy, moist, marked by pungent acid, but for those that could not such as the intrepid vessel below consulting a half accurate rough scribble, it was just a path with nothing too remarkable.*
*The cartographer from Dirtmouth, the kin-but-not. They looked a bit lost, but of of pride, it did not seem they would admit such.*
@mapmaker-vess0l
*In the distance, a familiar black and red cloak was sighted amongst the earthy colors and vibrant purple mushrooms that held quite a bounce. Scarlet red fireballs breathed out onto unsuspecting fungal infected mosskin as a path made clear*
*Why this vessel was in such a strange place was strange by itself but the companions they had seemed to enjoy setting ablaze whatever unfortunate creature they deemed suitable for their enjoyment, which primarily comprised of these fungal overgrown mosskins and other bugs*
Thine mustn't stray far. The exit of these strange fungal lands must be near...
*From their wanderings and ruminations (this path would need better detailing, someone should build markers along it, etc), Casseopea raised their head, three eyes blinking in a successive wave from right to left. They tilted their head, one side then the other, listening hard amongst sizzling acid pools.*
*They knew that voice, doppelganger they had encountered above in Dirtmouth's frayed edges. Yet now, they were here, and with them their hissing companions too. And although said hissing companions hadn't attacked before, Casseopea had learned caution and drew forth their warpick anyway. Just in case.*
*Perhaps it was polite to make their presence known. The other, their not quite mirror dressed in deep red and royal purple was still a distance, and Casseopea was not one for making sound. They too looked lost, and while Cass would never admit to such (Pride would be their folly, perhaps, but such a trait was taught and carved deep growing up), perhaps they too could help, in some way. Mayhaps two heads go glean the bearings of this place were better than one.*
*So with a hum more felt than heard, Casseopea stood on a spore sprouted ridge, a voided paw held up in greeting from beneath their golden yellow cloak.*
*One of the scarlet flame spitting companions noticed the golden yellow cloaked vessel before their... would they consider themselves an owner..? Master? Whatever the other vessel deemed themselves in regards of the role they had to these creatures*
*The creature let out a startled hiss, expecting something else, not the gold cloaked vessel and darted off, seeming to have been recalled back to the presumably equally lost vessel*
Do heed warning, little one. Such odd lands shan't be suited for such lonely travels...
*The red and black cloaked vessel looked up, noticing their counterpart standing upon a ridge, paw raised in greeting*
Hmm... appears we have crossed yet again, have we not..?
*Casseopea stood tall, yet some tension drained from their posture. They had been noticed, and they weren't attacked. Good. Their unnamed not-quite-double too recognized them.*
*After a moment of deliberation, the vessel approached, heavy steps and skittering pebbles before stepping beside their red cloaked counterpart, still a familiar stranger, but better than nothing in the earthy molt and mildew. This time, they pulled forth a pocket book, having learned from last time to try and avoid misunderstanding, and unlike their strange mirror, they disliked speech greatly.*
*The charcoal scrawled over the page in thick, utilitarian marks, blunt and to the point as always in simple trade script.*
Mapping these caverns. Maps sell well, and these aren't documented yet.
*The other vessel merely nodded in acknowledgement. They'd seen the scorched fungal husks and remnants of spurgs. They didn't need to assume more than that about the hissing grimmkin.*
*They weren't usually one for conversation, yet here they were. What were they supposed to do, supposed to say? Still, they had initiated, they had to say something.*
*What do they do? What do they not know?*
*Introductions! Had they introduced themselves last they spoke?*
*No. They hadn't. They had been called kin by their doppelganger (a point they felt vehement about, particularly as this did not seem like kin aside from appearance similarities) and the conversation had devolved from there.*
*Well, best to start there now.*
*With a grunt, Casseopea pointed out themselves, writing in thick, blocky trade letters to spell out their name. They gave another staticky grunt, before offering a paw out to shake.*
*Caretaker. A fitting moniker indeed, especially giving the hissing Grimmchildren attached to their shoulders like unruly belflies. But Cass nodded again, a simple shake of the law before withdrawing again, once more returning to writing blocky letters on their notebook before presenting it once more.*
Have you heard of the city somewhere around here? There are travel systems and heard tale of trams.
Hmm... I have seen such tramways... long since lost use... lest I presume...
*The Grimmchildren perched upon the Caretaker's head and staff, seeming to take up a watchful position, wary of anything that could ambush the two vessels*
I hath found one near the... admittedly depressing location of Dirtmouth... And a strange lift of sorts of a rather intricate design...
*The red cloaked vessel produced a map of their own, albeit a little cruder than one of the steady paw of a mapmaker but still readable. Primarily seemed to show notable landmarks or, in their opinion, noteworthy objects. Two of which were the aforementioned tramway and odd lift near Dirtmouth. There were small labels of some locations/areas they had written down, and those looked cleaner than the attempt of drawing a map. Most of the names seemed based upon commonalities the Caretaker had noticed or whatever they've overheard from other bugs when referencing such locations*
Such a way must have a use... such laziness to craft such modes to transport if they run derelict so easily...
*Casseopea was not a stranger to hobbist maps, nor ones made from necessity. Still, even glancing the somewhat (in their opinion) shody work had their own ego for their craft prickling in a delighted way. Still, if communicated what needed to be seen, and the Caretaker was at least polite about it.*
*With a bit of shuffling and juggling of pages and notes from their satchel, Cass produced their own handcrafted map, detailed mostly on Dirtmouth proper where they'd spent most of their time but branching out to above and below, the west and east. Looking over their companions work, they marked the tram and lift spots accordingly, before withdrawing their notebook once more.*
Not easily derelict. Houses in DM are old, too old for one bug lifetime. Must be several. Probably same with mechanics.
Would have to investigate.
Corpses in the caverns means some disaster occured, but if systems hold up, they were built to last.
*These lands were dead, long abandoned when Casseopea had wandered through them. Yet Caretaker's sentiment was a humble one, to see life return. And maybe it had in small ways, but it certainly wasn't the busy hub of what Cass suspected it had been.*
*Still, the conversation had been helpful in some way, selfish as they were, unused to such intricacies of social niceties. But it meant they now had new places to look, to explore. And if they were lucky, they could tinker with gears and draw blue prints of their own.*
*With a nod and a simple sign, they stepped back. Best not to linger.*
And Lo, I inflict my vessel creature upon thee! Feel free to interact with any of yours, and welcome again to Pharloomblr!
----
*The mushroom capped caverns of the Fungal Wastes steamed from burbling pools of pale green acid, the woody thrum of sound echoing through the tunnels downward. Amblooms ambled along while funglings and fungoons drifted aimlessly, bouncing off purple round capped shrooms.*
*In a cavern close to the abandoned Queen's Station now rung silent stood a stocky figure in a yellow dandelion down cloak, a pale mask of shell true crowned by twisting rootlike horns was surveying the area. Indeed, surveying seemed the best word for it, given three dark eyes peered from three green tinted goggle lenses peered down at a sheet of vellum parchment over scribbles in what could be a passable map, were someone to squint.*
*For now, the figure remained still, sketching another few lines into parchment, yet not quite a relaxed still. Best to approach with caution after all.*
@mapmaker-vess0l
*Grimmzr approaches, so does the grimmchild that follows it, and a small weaverling the small child seems to be looking for...something. it sees the figure. and approches staff in hand*
"...greetings." *the grimmchild stares....and so does the weaverling. the vessel seems....unhollowed. it has a eerie red light in its eyes. same color as most grimmtroupe colors* "what brings you here?"
*The stocky figure turned, voided eyes blinking in a wave of one, two, three. They had not expected to be approached, and to them, well, tis a third not quite mirror, this more twisted than the other two Casseopea had encountered. This doppelganger too, pale shell mask albiet spiderwebbed with cracks, four sharp jutting horns similar to Casseopea's own. Four eyes - two large and true, two smaller above them - aglow from within from unholy crimson light.*
*This, truly, from their bearing, how how they carry themselves, the cloak colouration and hissing creature of sulfur at their neck and call, this has to be truly one of those Grimm Fanatics of the death troupe Cass had heard of, but never seen. And this not quite mirror in front of them too, a little shorter than them, they looked like the other that Cass had seen come through with two spitting sulfur beasts on their shoulders, acting as their caretaker.*
*Casseopea was wary. They had learned to be wary, especially in places of danger, one voided paw hovering. Those grim creatures spoke flame, and small weaverlings - much as their past mentor Eiva - were still a quick and deadly bunch. The bug before them too spoke, rasping static tones, but speaking too.*
*And yet Casseopea was not one for the spoken word. Their hovering paw stilled before making motion, spelling out signs in careful, no nonsense dictation in simple trade hand.*
*the smaller Vessel stares* "maps?. no use for maps when one has memorized their way" *the smaller being approches. it gets as close as possible. the grimmchild sniffs them, the child seems to not be...scared. quite the reverse*
"what. are. you?" *it looks for the taller vessels weapon of choice reason is hard to tell* "what do you fight with?" *it keeps looking. the grimmchild seems weary*
*This not-quite-mirror was a lot more plain and talkative, that was for certain, and something Cass made a mental note of. Put it did mean not having to spend more mental energy to figure out how to converse. They blinked again, right, left, center, not quite still, but quite moving, just waiting, listening. The insult to cartography had been noted, but was not given a response.*
*The flame spitting beast was cautious, which meant to remain on edge lest it react. The weaverling - much like adopted kindred Casseopea had known - adopted the poise of nonchalance, and much the same, Casseopea sought to do the same, making another note on vellum pages.*
*The question of weapon from their shorter distorted shadow did catch them slightly. To them, at least, this bug was unarmed save for a staff. But perhaps their could be good for playing along.*
*So, another moment before the yellow cloaked vessel folded the current work in progress, stashing it away in a satchel before slipping the war pick from their back and holding it just out of reach in a show of showing off. It was a deadly, brass coloured thing smelted from a thumbtack and metal rod, built more for function over form. With a paw, Casseopea spelled in trade sign once more.*
Pick. Sharp tip goes in shell. Swings down like mace.
*the smaller ghost looks.....disrespected, he walks closer* "my name is Grimmzr. I expect you best remember that." *the grimmchild opens its mouth, it looks...angery and the weaverling is prepared to pounce*
"ahem I need no other weapon. this is all I need." *it hits the taller bug over the head with the flaming part of his staff, the Grimmchild spits a fireball the weaverling pounces*
*Casseopea should have expected, if not braced for the smack to the back of their head. And yet still, they had not expected the smaller bug to strike.*
¡¡ʍʍO
*That was a sound alright, a degraded squawk, simultaneously wet and gargled, yet sharp and staticky made from pain. A voided paw came up to feel around, the other still holding the war pick.*
*Three sharp eyes blinked all at once, once, twice. The Grimmchild hissed, the weaverling chittered. Casseopea took a moment, assessing.*
*And then with a grumble much like a growling roar of void, the taller vessel lunged, locking the smaller in a headlock, a paw snapped open and crackling with electricity close by.*
*No, the paw itself wasn't emitting it. No, this was a carefully built mechanism made for a hand held electrical pulse, now used and held up in warning.*
*With a bit of adjusting, Casseopea tried to maintain the headlocked, while trying to keep a hand free to sign, quick, almost indignant trade sign.*
"forgive me, ahem...also forgive the smaller ones they just won't stop until i am let go." *the grimmchild spits once again, trying to get its caretaker free, the weaverling pounces hoping the same*
*the smaller beings keep attacking to....minimal affect* "wait I asked for something? I feel wooooozy" *she smaller vessel falls asleep...or faints hard to tell*
*With the smaller vessel limp in their arms, Casseopea let's out a deep grumble of disappointment and frustration, burbling under the chitin and shell. Great. Wonderful. They were not here to babysit younglings, they were here for a terrain survey.*
*Still, they couldn't just leave this Grimmzr and company alone out here. A fungoon could take offense, and the hissing sulfur creature and weaverling clearly looked up to them.*
*After a long, internal debate and disappointing conclusion, Cass pinched between their three eyes. Somehow, this was the second time they'd had to take charge of someone half grown in this Kingdom of Hallownest. First was Porcelain (hopefully still in Dirtmouth with Elderbug), and now this similar doppelganger.*
*With a low gurgle, the yellow cloaked bug scooped Grimmzr over their shoulder like a travel shack, using a free arm to catch the sputtering Grimmchild and gather the weaverling under their cloak. They'd seen a few spots at Queen's Station that would be safe enough.*
*And so off they tread, letting out rumbles felt more than heard all the way as they plodded back.*
*A familiar stocky, golden figure of pale mask and twisting horns creeps through the underbrush below, careful void paws leading down, down, down to towering mushrooms and fungal growths. For those that could smell, the caverns were earthy, moist, marked by pungent acid, but for those that could not such as the intrepid vessel below consulting a half accurate rough scribble, it was just a path with nothing too remarkable.*
*The cartographer from Dirtmouth, the kin-but-not. They looked a bit lost, but of of pride, it did not seem they would admit such.*
@mapmaker-vess0l
*In the distance, a familiar black and red cloak was sighted amongst the earthy colors and vibrant purple mushrooms that held quite a bounce. Scarlet red fireballs breathed out onto unsuspecting fungal infected mosskin as a path made clear*
*Why this vessel was in such a strange place was strange by itself but the companions they had seemed to enjoy setting ablaze whatever unfortunate creature they deemed suitable for their enjoyment, which primarily comprised of these fungal overgrown mosskins and other bugs*
Thine mustn't stray far. The exit of these strange fungal lands must be near...
*From their wanderings and ruminations (this path would need better detailing, someone should build markers along it, etc), Casseopea raised their head, three eyes blinking in a successive wave from right to left. They tilted their head, one side then the other, listening hard amongst sizzling acid pools.*
*They knew that voice, doppelganger they had encountered above in Dirtmouth's frayed edges. Yet now, they were here, and with them their hissing companions too. And although said hissing companions hadn't attacked before, Casseopea had learned caution and drew forth their warpick anyway. Just in case.*
*Perhaps it was polite to make their presence known. The other, their not quite mirror dressed in deep red and royal purple was still a distance, and Casseopea was not one for making sound. They too looked lost, and while Cass would never admit to such (Pride would be their folly, perhaps, but such a trait was taught and carved deep growing up), perhaps they too could help, in some way. Mayhaps two heads go glean the bearings of this place were better than one.*
*So with a hum more felt than heard, Casseopea stood on a spore sprouted ridge, a voided paw held up in greeting from beneath their golden yellow cloak.*
*One of the scarlet flame spitting companions noticed the golden yellow cloaked vessel before their... would they consider themselves an owner..? Master? Whatever the other vessel deemed themselves in regards of the role they had to these creatures*
*The creature let out a startled hiss, expecting something else, not the gold cloaked vessel and darted off, seeming to have been recalled back to the presumably equally lost vessel*
Do heed warning, little one. Such odd lands shan't be suited for such lonely travels...
*The red and black cloaked vessel looked up, noticing their counterpart standing upon a ridge, paw raised in greeting*
Hmm... appears we have crossed yet again, have we not..?
*Casseopea stood tall, yet some tension drained from their posture. They had been noticed, and they weren't attacked. Good. Their unnamed not-quite-double too recognized them.*
*After a moment of deliberation, the vessel approached, heavy steps and skittering pebbles before stepping beside their red cloaked counterpart, still a familiar stranger, but better than nothing in the earthy molt and mildew. This time, they pulled forth a pocket book, having learned from last time to try and avoid misunderstanding, and unlike their strange mirror, they disliked speech greatly.*
*The charcoal scrawled over the page in thick, utilitarian marks, blunt and to the point as always in simple trade script.*
Mapping these caverns. Maps sell well, and these aren't documented yet.
*The other vessel merely nodded in acknowledgement. They'd seen the scorched fungal husks and remnants of spurgs. They didn't need to assume more than that about the hissing grimmkin.*
*They weren't usually one for conversation, yet here they were. What were they supposed to do, supposed to say? Still, they had initiated, they had to say something.*
*What do they do? What do they not know?*
*Introductions! Had they introduced themselves last they spoke?*
*No. They hadn't. They had been called kin by their doppelganger (a point they felt vehement about, particularly as this did not seem like kin aside from appearance similarities) and the conversation had devolved from there.*
*Well, best to start there now.*
*With a grunt, Casseopea pointed out themselves, writing in thick, blocky trade letters to spell out their name. They gave another staticky grunt, before offering a paw out to shake.*
*Caretaker. A fitting moniker indeed, especially giving the hissing Grimmchildren attached to their shoulders like unruly belflies. But Cass nodded again, a simple shake of the law before withdrawing again, once more returning to writing blocky letters on their notebook before presenting it once more.*
Have you heard of the city somewhere around here? There are travel systems and heard tale of trams.
Hmm... I have seen such tramways... long since lost use... lest I presume...
*The Grimmchildren perched upon the Caretaker's head and staff, seeming to take up a watchful position, wary of anything that could ambush the two vessels*
I hath found one near the... admittedly depressing location of Dirtmouth... And a strange lift of sorts of a rather intricate design...
*The red cloaked vessel produced a map of their own, albeit a little cruder than one of the steady paw of a mapmaker but still readable. Primarily seemed to show notable landmarks or, in their opinion, noteworthy objects. Two of which were the aforementioned tramway and odd lift near Dirtmouth. There were small labels of some locations/areas they had written down, and those looked cleaner than the attempt of drawing a map. Most of the names seemed based upon commonalities the Caretaker had noticed or whatever they've overheard from other bugs when referencing such locations*
Such a way must have a use... such laziness to craft such modes to transport if they run derelict so easily...
*Casseopea was not a stranger to hobbist maps, nor ones made from necessity. Still, even glancing the somewhat (in their opinion) shody work had their own ego for their craft prickling in a delighted way. Still, if communicated what needed to be seen, and the Caretaker was at least polite about it.*
*With a bit of shuffling and juggling of pages and notes from their satchel, Cass produced their own handcrafted map, detailed mostly on Dirtmouth proper where they'd spent most of their time but branching out to above and below, the west and east. Looking over their companions work, they marked the tram and lift spots accordingly, before withdrawing their notebook once more.*
Not easily derelict. Houses in DM are old, too old for one bug lifetime. Must be several. Probably same with mechanics.
Would have to investigate.
Corpses in the caverns means some disaster occured, but if systems hold up, they were built to last.
And Lo, I inflict my vessel creature upon thee! Feel free to interact with any of yours, and welcome again to Pharloomblr!
----
*The mushroom capped caverns of the Fungal Wastes steamed from burbling pools of pale green acid, the woody thrum of sound echoing through the tunnels downward. Amblooms ambled along while funglings and fungoons drifted aimlessly, bouncing off purple round capped shrooms.*
*In a cavern close to the abandoned Queen's Station now rung silent stood a stocky figure in a yellow dandelion down cloak, a pale mask of shell true crowned by twisting rootlike horns was surveying the area. Indeed, surveying seemed the best word for it, given three dark eyes peered from three green tinted goggle lenses peered down at a sheet of vellum parchment over scribbles in what could be a passable map, were someone to squint.*
*For now, the figure remained still, sketching another few lines into parchment, yet not quite a relaxed still. Best to approach with caution after all.*
@mapmaker-vess0l
*Grimmzr approaches, so does the grimmchild that follows it, and a small weaverling the small child seems to be looking for...something. it sees the figure. and approches staff in hand*
"...greetings." *the grimmchild stares....and so does the weaverling. the vessel seems....unhollowed. it has a eerie red light in its eyes. same color as most grimmtroupe colors* "what brings you here?"
*The stocky figure turned, voided eyes blinking in a wave of one, two, three. They had not expected to be approached, and to them, well, tis a third not quite mirror, this more twisted than the other two Casseopea had encountered. This doppelganger too, pale shell mask albiet spiderwebbed with cracks, four sharp jutting horns similar to Casseopea's own. Four eyes - two large and true, two smaller above them - aglow from within from unholy crimson light.*
*This, truly, from their bearing, how how they carry themselves, the cloak colouration and hissing creature of sulfur at their neck and call, this has to be truly one of those Grimm Fanatics of the death troupe Cass had heard of, but never seen. And this not quite mirror in front of them too, a little shorter than them, they looked like the other that Cass had seen come through with two spitting sulfur beasts on their shoulders, acting as their caretaker.*
*Casseopea was wary. They had learned to be wary, especially in places of danger, one voided paw hovering. Those grim creatures spoke flame, and small weaverlings - much as their past mentor Eiva - were still a quick and deadly bunch. The bug before them too spoke, rasping static tones, but speaking too.*
*And yet Casseopea was not one for the spoken word. Their hovering paw stilled before making motion, spelling out signs in careful, no nonsense dictation in simple trade hand.*
*the smaller Vessel stares* "maps?. no use for maps when one has memorized their way" *the smaller being approches. it gets as close as possible. the grimmchild sniffs them, the child seems to not be...scared. quite the reverse*
"what. are. you?" *it looks for the taller vessels weapon of choice reason is hard to tell* "what do you fight with?" *it keeps looking. the grimmchild seems weary*
*This not-quite-mirror was a lot more plain and talkative, that was for certain, and something Cass made a mental note of. Put it did mean not having to spend more mental energy to figure out how to converse. They blinked again, right, left, center, not quite still, but quite moving, just waiting, listening. The insult to cartography had been noted, but was not given a response.*
*The flame spitting beast was cautious, which meant to remain on edge lest it react. The weaverling - much like adopted kindred Casseopea had known - adopted the poise of nonchalance, and much the same, Casseopea sought to do the same, making another note on vellum pages.*
*The question of weapon from their shorter distorted shadow did catch them slightly. To them, at least, this bug was unarmed save for a staff. But perhaps their could be good for playing along.*
*So, another moment before the yellow cloaked vessel folded the current work in progress, stashing it away in a satchel before slipping the war pick from their back and holding it just out of reach in a show of showing off. It was a deadly, brass coloured thing smelted from a thumbtack and metal rod, built more for function over form. With a paw, Casseopea spelled in trade sign once more.*
Pick. Sharp tip goes in shell. Swings down like mace.
*the smaller ghost looks.....disrespected, he walks closer* "my name is Grimmzr. I expect you best remember that." *the grimmchild opens its mouth, it looks...angery and the weaverling is prepared to pounce*
"ahem I need no other weapon. this is all I need." *it hits the taller bug over the head with the flaming part of his staff, the Grimmchild spits a fireball the weaverling pounces*
*Casseopea should have expected, if not braced for the smack to the back of their head. And yet still, they had not expected the smaller bug to strike.*
¡¡ʍʍO
*That was a sound alright, a degraded squawk, simultaneously wet and gargled, yet sharp and staticky made from pain. A voided paw came up to feel around, the other still holding the war pick.*
*Three sharp eyes blinked all at once, once, twice. The Grimmchild hissed, the weaverling chittered. Casseopea took a moment, assessing.*
*And then with a grumble much like a growling roar of void, the taller vessel lunged, locking the smaller in a headlock, a paw snapped open and crackling with electricity close by.*
*No, the paw itself wasn't emitting it. No, this was a carefully built mechanism made for a hand held electrical pulse, now used and held up in warning.*
*With a bit of adjusting, Casseopea tried to maintain the headlocked, while trying to keep a hand free to sign, quick, almost indignant trade sign.*
*A familiar stocky, golden figure of pale mask and twisting horns creeps through the underbrush below, careful void paws leading down, down, down to towering mushrooms and fungal growths. For those that could smell, the caverns were earthy, moist, marked by pungent acid, but for those that could not such as the intrepid vessel below consulting a half accurate rough scribble, it was just a path with nothing too remarkable.*
*The cartographer from Dirtmouth, the kin-but-not. They looked a bit lost, but of of pride, it did not seem they would admit such.*
@mapmaker-vess0l
*In the distance, a familiar black and red cloak was sighted amongst the earthy colors and vibrant purple mushrooms that held quite a bounce. Scarlet red fireballs breathed out onto unsuspecting fungal infected mosskin as a path made clear*
*Why this vessel was in such a strange place was strange by itself but the companions they had seemed to enjoy setting ablaze whatever unfortunate creature they deemed suitable for their enjoyment, which primarily comprised of these fungal overgrown mosskins and other bugs*
Thine mustn't stray far. The exit of these strange fungal lands must be near...
*From their wanderings and ruminations (this path would need better detailing, someone should build markers along it, etc), Casseopea raised their head, three eyes blinking in a successive wave from right to left. They tilted their head, one side then the other, listening hard amongst sizzling acid pools.*
*They knew that voice, doppelganger they had encountered above in Dirtmouth's frayed edges. Yet now, they were here, and with them their hissing companions too. And although said hissing companions hadn't attacked before, Casseopea had learned caution and drew forth their warpick anyway. Just in case.*
*Perhaps it was polite to make their presence known. The other, their not quite mirror dressed in deep red and royal purple was still a distance, and Casseopea was not one for making sound. They too looked lost, and while Cass would never admit to such (Pride would be their folly, perhaps, but such a trait was taught and carved deep growing up), perhaps they too could help, in some way. Mayhaps two heads go glean the bearings of this place were better than one.*
*So with a hum more felt than heard, Casseopea stood on a spore sprouted ridge, a voided paw held up in greeting from beneath their golden yellow cloak.*
*One of the scarlet flame spitting companions noticed the golden yellow cloaked vessel before their... would they consider themselves an owner..? Master? Whatever the other vessel deemed themselves in regards of the role they had to these creatures*
*The creature let out a startled hiss, expecting something else, not the gold cloaked vessel and darted off, seeming to have been recalled back to the presumably equally lost vessel*
Do heed warning, little one. Such odd lands shan't be suited for such lonely travels...
*The red and black cloaked vessel looked up, noticing their counterpart standing upon a ridge, paw raised in greeting*
Hmm... appears we have crossed yet again, have we not..?
*Casseopea stood tall, yet some tension drained from their posture. They had been noticed, and they weren't attacked. Good. Their unnamed not-quite-double too recognized them.*
*After a moment of deliberation, the vessel approached, heavy steps and skittering pebbles before stepping beside their red cloaked counterpart, still a familiar stranger, but better than nothing in the earthy molt and mildew. This time, they pulled forth a pocket book, having learned from last time to try and avoid misunderstanding, and unlike their strange mirror, they disliked speech greatly.*
*The charcoal scrawled over the page in thick, utilitarian marks, blunt and to the point as always in simple trade script.*
Mapping these caverns. Maps sell well, and these aren't documented yet.
*The other vessel merely nodded in acknowledgement. They'd seen the scorched fungal husks and remnants of spurgs. They didn't need to assume more than that about the hissing grimmkin.*
*They weren't usually one for conversation, yet here they were. What were they supposed to do, supposed to say? Still, they had initiated, they had to say something.*
*What do they do? What do they not know?*
*Introductions! Had they introduced themselves last they spoke?*
*No. They hadn't. They had been called kin by their doppelganger (a point they felt vehement about, particularly as this did not seem like kin aside from appearance similarities) and the conversation had devolved from there.*
*Well, best to start there now.*
*With a grunt, Casseopea pointed out themselves, writing in thick, blocky trade letters to spell out their name. They gave another staticky grunt, before offering a paw out to shake.*
*Caretaker. A fitting moniker indeed, especially giving the hissing Grimmchildren attached to their shoulders like unruly belflies. But Cass nodded again, a simple shake of the law before withdrawing again, once more returning to writing blocky letters on their notebook before presenting it once more.*
Have you heard of the city somewhere around here? There are travel systems and heard tale of trams.
*A familiar stocky, golden figure of pale mask and twisting horns creeps through the underbrush below, careful void paws leading down, down, down to towering mushrooms and fungal growths. For those that could smell, the caverns were earthy, moist, marked by pungent acid, but for those that could not such as the intrepid vessel below consulting a half accurate rough scribble, it was just a path with nothing too remarkable.*
*The cartographer from Dirtmouth, the kin-but-not. They looked a bit lost, but of of pride, it did not seem they would admit such.*
@mapmaker-vess0l
*In the distance, a familiar black and red cloak was sighted amongst the earthy colors and vibrant purple mushrooms that held quite a bounce. Scarlet red fireballs breathed out onto unsuspecting fungal infected mosskin as a path made clear*
*Why this vessel was in such a strange place was strange by itself but the companions they had seemed to enjoy setting ablaze whatever unfortunate creature they deemed suitable for their enjoyment, which primarily comprised of these fungal overgrown mosskins and other bugs*
Thine mustn't stray far. The exit of these strange fungal lands must be near...
*From their wanderings and ruminations (this path would need better detailing, someone should build markers along it, etc), Casseopea raised their head, three eyes blinking in a successive wave from right to left. They tilted their head, one side then the other, listening hard amongst sizzling acid pools.*
*They knew that voice, doppelganger they had encountered above in Dirtmouth's frayed edges. Yet now, they were here, and with them their hissing companions too. And although said hissing companions hadn't attacked before, Casseopea had learned caution and drew forth their warpick anyway. Just in case.*
*Perhaps it was polite to make their presence known. The other, their not quite mirror dressed in deep red and royal purple was still a distance, and Casseopea was not one for making sound. They too looked lost, and while Cass would never admit to such (Pride would be their folly, perhaps, but such a trait was taught and carved deep growing up), perhaps they too could help, in some way. Mayhaps two heads go glean the bearings of this place were better than one.*
*So with a hum more felt than heard, Casseopea stood on a spore sprouted ridge, a voided paw held up in greeting from beneath their golden yellow cloak.*
*One of the scarlet flame spitting companions noticed the golden yellow cloaked vessel before their... would they consider themselves an owner..? Master? Whatever the other vessel deemed themselves in regards of the role they had to these creatures*
*The creature let out a startled hiss, expecting something else, not the gold cloaked vessel and darted off, seeming to have been recalled back to the presumably equally lost vessel*
Do heed warning, little one. Such odd lands shan't be suited for such lonely travels...
*The red and black cloaked vessel looked up, noticing their counterpart standing upon a ridge, paw raised in greeting*
Hmm... appears we have crossed yet again, have we not..?
*Casseopea stood tall, yet some tension drained from their posture. They had been noticed, and they weren't attacked. Good. Their unnamed not-quite-double too recognized them.*
*After a moment of deliberation, the vessel approached, heavy steps and skittering pebbles before stepping beside their red cloaked counterpart, still a familiar stranger, but better than nothing in the earthy molt and mildew. This time, they pulled forth a pocket book, having learned from last time to try and avoid misunderstanding, and unlike their strange mirror, they disliked speech greatly.*
*The charcoal scrawled over the page in thick, utilitarian marks, blunt and to the point as always in simple trade script.*
Mapping these caverns. Maps sell well, and these aren't documented yet.
*The other vessel merely nodded in acknowledgement. They'd seen the scorched fungal husks and remnants of spurgs. They didn't need to assume more than that about the hissing grimmkin.*
*They weren't usually one for conversation, yet here they were. What were they supposed to do, supposed to say? Still, they had initiated, they had to say something.*
*What do they do? What do they not know?*
*Introductions! Had they introduced themselves last they spoke?*
*No. They hadn't. They had been called kin by their doppelganger (a point they felt vehement about, particularly as this did not seem like kin aside from appearance similarities) and the conversation had devolved from there.*
*Well, best to start there now.*
*With a grunt, Casseopea pointed out themselves, writing in thick, blocky trade letters to spell out their name. They gave another staticky grunt, before offering a paw out to shake.*
*Much like the rest of the City of Tears, the Pleasure House too had seen far, far better days, waterlogged pages of sheet music and wilted flowers littering the stage and forlorn abandoned rooms. None came to visit anymore, none that paused to listen.*
*Yet from above there came a rap tapping, a scrape of weapon floor, the splash of movement of something in the above hot spring waters. There had been holes and paths made when the kingdom fell, clear enough by the empty eyed shells and crumpled husks still sat in their seats.*
*And yet there, from above, came a curious sight indeed. A shorter bug, stocky with a white mask and twisting horns slipped down on heavy set steps. There was a pick of sorts on their back, fashioned from a brass thumbtack. And their cloak, a yellow of dandelion fluff, odd and new but a splash of colour softened from the mournful blue light of the Blue Lake, far above the city caverns.*
*The stranger did not notice the songstress, at least, they gave no acknowledgement to. Their steps were careful, made on void black paws, their three sharp eyes of darkness assessing, appraising the the dim space. They lingered at walls, glanced at soaked sheets before finally stopping at a painted relief of a certain butterfly of blonde fur and fuschia wings. The stranger did not speak, silent they were, yet there did come a thrumming hum felt more than heard of bass, still far away from the stage itself.*
@mapmaker-vess0l
Marissa couldn’t help but watch the stranger ever since she first noticed them descend the steps and arrive in the room. They’re an interesting-looking sort, but not completely unusual. She had seen many types of bugs attend her performances ages ago.
Her gaze followed them all the way to where they currently stood, in front of the painted depiction of her on the wall. She did wonder, when they passed her stage, if they had just not noticed her or deliberately failed to acknowledge her.
Her song faltered and came to a pause as she called out, the words quiet yet echoing off the walls,
*For all she knew, perhaps the stranger had not heard her, merely looking at the painted portrait intently. A voided paw ran along the edges, tapping the surface, dusting off colours, and with it the low, hum huff vibrated the air around them. Strange behavior, and yet those dark eyes were looking it over, not curiosity, but appraisal, tracking numbers, calculating value based on materials and age.*
*After a moment more, they turned, looking over the stage. And yet, three eyes seemed to look through her as if she wasn't there at all, drawing closer toward a pile of sold music sheets and programs. There was no acknowledgement at all, just a stranger continuing to pick over things from a dead kingdom.*
Marissa blinked, realizing that they simply could not see her. They’re certainly not the first. Many who have wandered in here before have also been unable to see or communicate with her despite her attempts to get their attention. She couldn’t understand why that is; why some could see her and others could not.
There was hardly any point in trying again.
She noticed their apparent interest in the yellowed sheets of paper left on the side of the stage. She hasn’t noticed them there before. In fact, she’s hardly ever moved from where she normally stood.
As she glided over to the stack of papers, a breeze flowed through the room, noticeably making the sheets flutter and rustle.
*The breeze had the stranger freeze, pale shell mask immediately snapping up on locking on the disturbed pages. That was strange. Yes. Strange.*
*The stranger straightened, void paws abandoning the waterlogged parchment, one twitching toward the pick at their back. After a moment more, they dragged a set of goggles down over their three dark and sharp eyes, smelted green glass covering them thoroughly.*
*There had been a breeze, as noticed by the stranger. And with an adjustment of the red scarf at their throat, the stranger moved. They investigated the wall by the stage, before crashing back to the above stairs. From their satchel, they took out tools before striking a match, holding it up and watching for the flame to gutter. And sure enough, nothing, at least from where they stood just below the stage now. They watched, they wait, a voided paw twitching as if to count silently.*
*And oh, this stranger of root like horns was silent, unnervingly so. Yet the breeze, that couldn't have come from this room, the structure was wrong to cause unintended airflow, there weren't any cracks or breaks.*
*Dissatisfied, the stranger repeated this test again, and twice more, receiving the same results. That discordant hum felt more than heard rumbled through their chitin once more, putting out the match with a voided paw and pushing their goggles up. Curious, strange, and entirely unexplainable.*
*But this stranger was different from those that came blinded by golden light. Different from the weary ones that fled when strangeness occured. No. This one set their satchel down on the edge of the stage, drawing forth tools, notepads, scraps and trinkets scattered about cartography pins. They're snatched up a quill, and with it, immediately scratching down calculations of the room and theater with eerie focus.*
And Lo, I inflict my vessel creature upon thee! Feel free to interact with any of yours, and welcome again to Pharloomblr!
----
*The mushroom capped caverns of the Fungal Wastes steamed from burbling pools of pale green acid, the woody thrum of sound echoing through the tunnels downward. Amblooms ambled along while funglings and fungoons drifted aimlessly, bouncing off purple round capped shrooms.*
*In a cavern close to the abandoned Queen's Station now rung silent stood a stocky figure in a yellow dandelion down cloak, a pale mask of shell true crowned by twisting rootlike horns was surveying the area. Indeed, surveying seemed the best word for it, given three dark eyes peered from three green tinted goggle lenses peered down at a sheet of vellum parchment over scribbles in what could be a passable map, were someone to squint.*
*For now, the figure remained still, sketching another few lines into parchment, yet not quite a relaxed still. Best to approach with caution after all.*
@mapmaker-vess0l
*Grimmzr approaches, so does the grimmchild that follows it, and a small weaverling the small child seems to be looking for...something. it sees the figure. and approches staff in hand*
"...greetings." *the grimmchild stares....and so does the weaverling. the vessel seems....unhollowed. it has a eerie red light in its eyes. same color as most grimmtroupe colors* "what brings you here?"
*The stocky figure turned, voided eyes blinking in a wave of one, two, three. They had not expected to be approached, and to them, well, tis a third not quite mirror, this more twisted than the other two Casseopea had encountered. This doppelganger too, pale shell mask albiet spiderwebbed with cracks, four sharp jutting horns similar to Casseopea's own. Four eyes - two large and true, two smaller above them - aglow from within from unholy crimson light.*
*This, truly, from their bearing, how how they carry themselves, the cloak colouration and hissing creature of sulfur at their neck and call, this has to be truly one of those Grimm Fanatics of the death troupe Cass had heard of, but never seen. And this not quite mirror in front of them too, a little shorter than them, they looked like the other that Cass had seen come through with two spitting sulfur beasts on their shoulders, acting as their caretaker.*
*Casseopea was wary. They had learned to be wary, especially in places of danger, one voided paw hovering. Those grim creatures spoke flame, and small weaverlings - much as their past mentor Eiva - were still a quick and deadly bunch. The bug before them too spoke, rasping static tones, but speaking too.*
*And yet Casseopea was not one for the spoken word. Their hovering paw stilled before making motion, spelling out signs in careful, no nonsense dictation in simple trade hand.*
*the smaller Vessel stares* "maps?. no use for maps when one has memorized their way" *the smaller being approches. it gets as close as possible. the grimmchild sniffs them, the child seems to not be...scared. quite the reverse*
"what. are. you?" *it looks for the taller vessels weapon of choice reason is hard to tell* "what do you fight with?" *it keeps looking. the grimmchild seems weary*
*This not-quite-mirror was a lot more plain and talkative, that was for certain, and something Cass made a mental note of. Put it did mean not having to spend more mental energy to figure out how to converse. They blinked again, right, left, center, not quite still, but quite moving, just waiting, listening. The insult to cartography had been noted, but was not given a response.*
*The flame spitting beast was cautious, which meant to remain on edge lest it react. The weaverling - much like adopted kindred Casseopea had known - adopted the poise of nonchalance, and much the same, Casseopea sought to do the same, making another note on vellum pages.*
*The question of weapon from their shorter distorted shadow did catch them slightly. To them, at least, this bug was unarmed save for a staff. But perhaps their could be good for playing along.*
*So, another moment before the yellow cloaked vessel folded the current work in progress, stashing it away in a satchel before slipping the war pick from their back and holding it just out of reach in a show of showing off. It was a deadly, brass coloured thing smelted from a thumbtack and metal rod, built more for function over form. With a paw, Casseopea spelled in trade sign once more.*
Pick. Sharp tip goes in shell. Swings down like mace.
*Much like the rest of the City of Tears, the Pleasure House too had seen far, far better days, waterlogged pages of sheet music and wilted flowers littering the stage and forlorn abandoned rooms. None came to visit anymore, none that paused to listen.*
*Yet from above there came a rap tapping, a scrape of weapon floor, the splash of movement of something in the above hot spring waters. There had been holes and paths made when the kingdom fell, clear enough by the empty eyed shells and crumpled husks still sat in their seats.*
*And yet there, from above, came a curious sight indeed. A shorter bug, stocky with a white mask and twisting horns slipped down on heavy set steps. There was a pick of sorts on their back, fashioned from a brass thumbtack. And their cloak, a yellow of dandelion fluff, odd and new but a splash of colour softened from the mournful blue light of the Blue Lake, far above the city caverns.*
*The stranger did not notice the songstress, at least, they gave no acknowledgement to. Their steps were careful, made on void black paws, their three sharp eyes of darkness assessing, appraising the the dim space. They lingered at walls, glanced at soaked sheets before finally stopping at a painted relief of a certain butterfly of blonde fur and fuschia wings. The stranger did not speak, silent they were, yet there did come a thrumming hum felt more than heard of bass, still far away from the stage itself.*
@mapmaker-vess0l
Marissa couldn’t help but watch the stranger ever since she first noticed them descend the steps and arrive in the room. They’re an interesting-looking sort, but not completely unusual. She had seen many types of bugs attend her performances ages ago.
Her gaze followed them all the way to where they currently stood, in front of the painted depiction of her on the wall. She did wonder, when they passed her stage, if they had just not noticed her or deliberately failed to acknowledge her.
Her song faltered and came to a pause as she called out, the words quiet yet echoing off the walls,
*For all she knew, perhaps the stranger had not heard her, merely looking at the painted portrait intently. A voided paw ran along the edges, tapping the surface, dusting off colours, and with it the low, hum huff vibrated the air around them. Strange behavior, and yet those dark eyes were looking it over, not curiosity, but appraisal, tracking numbers, calculating value based on materials and age.*
*After a moment more, they turned, looking over the stage. And yet, three eyes seemed to look through her as if she wasn't there at all, drawing closer toward a pile of sold music sheets and programs. There was no acknowledgement at all, just a stranger continuing to pick over things from a dead kingdom.*
*A familiar stocky, golden figure of pale mask and twisting horns creeps through the underbrush below, careful void paws leading down, down, down to towering mushrooms and fungal growths. For those that could smell, the caverns were earthy, moist, marked by pungent acid, but for those that could not such as the intrepid vessel below consulting a half accurate rough scribble, it was just a path with nothing too remarkable.*
*The cartographer from Dirtmouth, the kin-but-not. They looked a bit lost, but of of pride, it did not seem they would admit such.*
@mapmaker-vess0l
*In the distance, a familiar black and red cloak was sighted amongst the earthy colors and vibrant purple mushrooms that held quite a bounce. Scarlet red fireballs breathed out onto unsuspecting fungal infected mosskin as a path made clear*
*Why this vessel was in such a strange place was strange by itself but the companions they had seemed to enjoy setting ablaze whatever unfortunate creature they deemed suitable for their enjoyment, which primarily comprised of these fungal overgrown mosskins and other bugs*
Thine mustn't stray far. The exit of these strange fungal lands must be near...
*From their wanderings and ruminations (this path would need better detailing, someone should build markers along it, etc), Casseopea raised their head, three eyes blinking in a successive wave from right to left. They tilted their head, one side then the other, listening hard amongst sizzling acid pools.*
*They knew that voice, doppelganger they had encountered above in Dirtmouth's frayed edges. Yet now, they were here, and with them their hissing companions too. And although said hissing companions hadn't attacked before, Casseopea had learned caution and drew forth their warpick anyway. Just in case.*
*Perhaps it was polite to make their presence known. The other, their not quite mirror dressed in deep red and royal purple was still a distance, and Casseopea was not one for making sound. They too looked lost, and while Cass would never admit to such (Pride would be their folly, perhaps, but such a trait was taught and carved deep growing up), perhaps they too could help, in some way. Mayhaps two heads go glean the bearings of this place were better than one.*
*So with a hum more felt than heard, Casseopea stood on a spore sprouted ridge, a voided paw held up in greeting from beneath their golden yellow cloak.*
*One of the scarlet flame spitting companions noticed the golden yellow cloaked vessel before their... would they consider themselves an owner..? Master? Whatever the other vessel deemed themselves in regards of the role they had to these creatures*
*The creature let out a startled hiss, expecting something else, not the gold cloaked vessel and darted off, seeming to have been recalled back to the presumably equally lost vessel*
Do heed warning, little one. Such odd lands shan't be suited for such lonely travels...
*The red and black cloaked vessel looked up, noticing their counterpart standing upon a ridge, paw raised in greeting*
Hmm... appears we have crossed yet again, have we not..?
*Casseopea stood tall, yet some tension drained from their posture. They had been noticed, and they weren't attacked. Good. Their unnamed not-quite-double too recognized them.*
*After a moment of deliberation, the vessel approached, heavy steps and skittering pebbles before stepping beside their red cloaked counterpart, still a familiar stranger, but better than nothing in the earthy molt and mildew. This time, they pulled forth a pocket book, having learned from last time to try and avoid misunderstanding, and unlike their strange mirror, they disliked speech greatly.*
*The charcoal scrawled over the page in thick, utilitarian marks, blunt and to the point as always in simple trade script.*
Mapping these caverns. Maps sell well, and these aren't documented yet.
And Lo, I inflict my vessel creature upon thee! Feel free to interact with any of yours, and welcome again to Pharloomblr!
----
*The mushroom capped caverns of the Fungal Wastes steamed from burbling pools of pale green acid, the woody thrum of sound echoing through the tunnels downward. Amblooms ambled along while funglings and fungoons drifted aimlessly, bouncing off purple round capped shrooms.*
*In a cavern close to the abandoned Queen's Station now rung silent stood a stocky figure in a yellow dandelion down cloak, a pale mask of shell true crowned by twisting rootlike horns was surveying the area. Indeed, surveying seemed the best word for it, given three dark eyes peered from three green tinted goggle lenses peered down at a sheet of vellum parchment over scribbles in what could be a passable map, were someone to squint.*
*For now, the figure remained still, sketching another few lines into parchment, yet not quite a relaxed still. Best to approach with caution after all.*
@mapmaker-vess0l
*Grimmzr approaches, so does the grimmchild that follows it, and a small weaverling the small child seems to be looking for...something. it sees the figure. and approches staff in hand*
"...greetings." *the grimmchild stares....and so does the weaverling. the vessel seems....unhollowed. it has a eerie red light in its eyes. same color as most grimmtroupe colors* "what brings you here?"
*The stocky figure turned, voided eyes blinking in a wave of one, two, three. They had not expected to be approached, and to them, well, tis a third not quite mirror, this more twisted than the other two Casseopea had encountered. This doppelganger too, pale shell mask albiet spiderwebbed with cracks, four sharp jutting horns similar to Casseopea's own. Four eyes - two large and true, two smaller above them - aglow from within from unholy crimson light.*
*This, truly, from their bearing, how how they carry themselves, the cloak colouration and hissing creature of sulfur at their neck and call, this has to be truly one of those Grimm Fanatics of the death troupe Cass had heard of, but never seen. And this not quite mirror in front of them too, a little shorter than them, they looked like the other that Cass had seen come through with two spitting sulfur beasts on their shoulders, acting as their caretaker.*
*Casseopea was wary. They had learned to be wary, especially in places of danger, one voided paw hovering. Those grim creatures spoke flame, and small weaverlings - much as their past mentor Eiva - were still a quick and deadly bunch. The bug before them too spoke, rasping static tones, but speaking too.*
*And yet Casseopea was not one for the spoken word. Their hovering paw stilled before making motion, spelling out signs in careful, no nonsense dictation in simple trade hand.*
*A familiar stocky, golden figure of pale mask and twisting horns creeps through the underbrush below, careful void paws leading down, down, down to towering mushrooms and fungal growths. For those that could smell, the caverns were earthy, moist, marked by pungent acid, but for those that could not such as the intrepid vessel below consulting a half accurate rough scribble, it was just a path with nothing too remarkable.*
*The cartographer from Dirtmouth, the kin-but-not. They looked a bit lost, but of of pride, it did not seem they would admit such.*
@mapmaker-vess0l
*In the distance, a familiar black and red cloak was sighted amongst the earthy colors and vibrant purple mushrooms that held quite a bounce. Scarlet red fireballs breathed out onto unsuspecting fungal infected mosskin as a path made clear*
*Why this vessel was in such a strange place was strange by itself but the companions they had seemed to enjoy setting ablaze whatever unfortunate creature they deemed suitable for their enjoyment, which primarily comprised of these fungal overgrown mosskins and other bugs*
Thine mustn't stray far. The exit of these strange fungal lands must be near...
*From their wanderings and ruminations (this path would need better detailing, someone should build markers along it, etc), Casseopea raised their head, three eyes blinking in a successive wave from right to left. They tilted their head, one side then the other, listening hard amongst sizzling acid pools.*
*They knew that voice, doppelganger they had encountered above in Dirtmouth's frayed edges. Yet now, they were here, and with them their hissing companions too. And although said hissing companions hadn't attacked before, Casseopea had learned caution and drew forth their warpick anyway. Just in case.*
*Perhaps it was polite to make their presence known. The other, their not quite mirror dressed in deep red and royal purple was still a distance, and Casseopea was not one for making sound. They too looked lost, and while Cass would never admit to such (Pride would be their folly, perhaps, but such a trait was taught and carved deep growing up), perhaps they too could help, in some way. Mayhaps two heads go glean the bearings of this place were better than one.*
*So with a hum more felt than heard, Casseopea stood on a spore sprouted ridge, a voided paw held up in greeting from beneath their golden yellow cloak.*
Hello, I'm on a mission of distributing flowers to most beings I meet on my path. You get... a Monstera.
A rather rare plant! Classy, almost as classy as you! Enjoy!
– 🧩💐
*The vessel took the plant pot with a bit of surprise. A plant with large, waxy leaves, frondlike in nature, and perhaps not natural to the current world, that is what they observed.*
*Casseopea quickly stashed it in their workshop, turning back to their now set upon journey.*
*Classy, however. The plant was classy, and according to the other bug, well, so were they.*
*The wind around Dirtmouth howled, the vessel fluffing up their golden yellow cloak against the chill, a bright spot to the gloomy fading town. They'd tarried here enough, lingered longer than they normally did. They'd mapped the town (the metal bench served as center), the area around it (the graveyard toward the east wasn't abandoned), counted homes and businesses (25 shellhomes most being empty, two marked businesses with one being a satellite store, the stag ways, and the whispering cave of confesson), and did an unofficial census (total population was Elderbug, a supposed Cornifer and his wife, a Confessor Jiji, and when managing the store, a Sly. That did not include them however.)*
*They had exhausted themself, but at least they were thorough. But with things put to meticulous detail, that meant it was time to press on.*
*But where to? They'd have to go down the well, down into the rest of Hallownest proper. And besides, if the rumors were true of a kingdom being put to rights, then detailed cartography paid well.*
*Casseopea thought of such as they packed, lingering on the makeshift workshop they had set for themselves. Dravar had Beebop's workshop had been apart of their caravan, a separate wagon that could fold out into a proper tinkering space due to clever mechanism. But such was lost now, and Casseopea was one bug and used to traveling light. Still, as long as nothing hit Dirtmouth, Cass could come back and resupply, stock, and deeper tinker.*
*But where to go?*
*Amongst the caverns below, there was one of bright greenery, the Charmmaker mantis Snapdragon lived there. But there were also tales and word of mouth of spores and mushrooms, and deeper still a city.*
"When in doubt, trust your feet," *Eiva had once said.* "They know where to before you do."
*So with that last thought in mind, Casseopea set out, satchel slung low, cloak like a yellow light as they set foot down, down, down Dirtmouth's well into the lands below.*
dededos
theartofmadeline
jacobvanloon
blakekathryn
annaxmalina
vaporwave
